Dance with the Devil
by JudyH
Summary: A new case sends Mark back into a painful part of his past he thought he'd left behind...


Those of you who know me from other fandoms know I have never had an original thought (snicker). Most of my story ideas were inspired by music...sometimes just a line, sometimes the story within the song. So goes it with this one. I got the plot bunny from a couple of songs: My major bad guy came from a Springsteen song about a guy whose uncle made his living selling hot cars. The song, ironically enough, is titled "Straight Time" and has to do with an excon who's having a hard time making it out in the real world...imagine that. And the main story inspiration is from a Madonna (yes, Madonna) song called "Live to Tell". If you get a chance to snag that song, listen to the lyrics...that's where this whole thing came from.

A special thank you to Susan B., who graciously encouraged me to finish this, even though she recently posted a great story with a very similar storyline.

..."Ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight? I always like to ask that of all my prey." : Jack Nicholson to Val Kilmer (Batman)

** Dance With the Devil**

by Judy H.

"I think it needs more chlorine."

Mark McCormick glanced up from the seemingly endless chore of dipping suicidal little insects from the pool. With a long suffering sigh, he leaned against the handle of the net and studied the older man.

"You can stand over there, twenty feet away and tell that? Judge, there's already enough chlorine in the pool. Just the fumes in the air are taking the curl out of my hair."

"There's a film or something on the water. I can see it." Milton C. Hardcastle, Superior Court Judge, retired, pointed at the shimmering surface as he plopped down into a patio chair.

"You're seeing things." McCormick shook one last persistent beetle out of the net before tossing it down on the ground. "The chemicals are right, the pH is perfect. I checked it myself."

"When?"Hardcastle scowled at him before spreading out the contents of a file folder onto the tabletop.

"Couple of days ago."

"Well, the water looks green now."

"No, it doesn't." He ambled over to the table and pulled out a chair. The pool was never clean enough or sterile enough for its owner, even though McCormick couldn't remember the last time he had seen Hardcastle in it. Sometimes it seemed the incessant cleaning and maintenance duties were merely ways to keep the resident pool boy busy.

"Still memorizing that car jacking file? You've been staring at it for a week now."

"Well, not much here to work with so far. This guy," the judge thumped the file in front of him. "He's a real scumbag. So far, the cops are coming up empty on priors. They think he's using an alias, so there's some dirt under his rug somewhere."

"So why's he in your sights now?" McCormick asked,.

"Rumor has it he's moved on from auto theft and headed into the graduate program...drugs and possibly a murder. Frank's working on getting me some files from Vice now."

"And then what? Saddle up and ride?"

The judge frowned. " Not sure yet. I'm still working on it." He looked up as the younger man stood and headed back across the lawn. "Where ya goin'?"

"I'm going to the cleaners, see if my Tonto costume is ready. I have a feeling I'm gonna need it real soon."

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

"McCormick! I've been calling you, didn't you hear me?"

The man in question sighed with a dramatic flourish as he slowly rolled the creeper out from under the Coyote.

"Yes, I heard you the first four times you called," he sighed again as he peered up at the frowning countenance looming over him. "Whaddya need?"

" I _need_ you to stop tinkering with that thing long enough to get some _real _work done around here." The judge cranked his head sideways as if to peek under the car to see what McCormick was _really_ doing. "What's wrong with it this time?"

"I don't know," McCormick grumbled as he rose to his feet, wiping grease from his hands on a grimy towel. "There's a slow leak somewhere, could be the oil line. And the brake pads are shot...again."

"Gee, can't imagine how that could happen," Hardcastle grinned. "So, how much is this gonna set me back this time?"

"I can fix the leak, once I find it. And Benny said he can fix the brakes today if I get it to him before noon." Mark tossed the rag into a cardboard box in the corner. "Thought I'd get a price from him on a new paint job, too."

"Oh, you did, did you?"

"Sure,"Mark grinned. "Midnight black. Figured if we were gonna drive it like the Batmobile, it should at least look like it." He rolled the creeper into the corner. "And I'll pay for the brake pads. Benny gives me a discount; says we pretty much keep him in business."

"Speaking of business," Hardcastle said as they stepped out of the garage into the midmorning sun, "Frank has a file he wants us to look at. I told him you'd be right down to pick it up."

"Really? It's a long walk from Benny's garage to the police station, Judge."

"So, you leave now, you'll be back by..." he glanced at his watch. "Eleven, and you can still make it to the garage by twelve."

"Judge, look at me." Mark held up his grease covered hands for inspection. " I look like I fell into a grease pit. I can't go downtown looking like this."

"Why not?" Hardcastle threw back over his shoulder as he reached the front door. "'Fraid someone will think you've actually been doing some work?" Without waiting for a reply, he re-entered the house, leaving a fuming McCormick standing in the driveway.

"Why do I put up with this?" Mark threw up his arms, his eyes raised heavenward as he trudged back toward the Coyote. "What did I do in another life to deserve this?"

Hardcastle glanced back as the front door closed, and smiled.

MMMMMMMMMMMMM

Mark was not in the best of moods as he roared down the PCH toward Gulls Way. Not one, but _two_ minor fender benders downtown had held him up in traffic, and now there was no way he could get the Coyote to Benny's in time. The harried mechanic had informed him that morning that he was going to Phoenix for his sister's wedding the next day and wouldn't be back until Tuesday. So, now the best McCormick could hope for was a quiet weekend, with no screaming wheel, rubber scorching car chases to burn out the remainder of the brake pads until at least the middle of next week. He was already worried about the condition of the overworked rotors; if they went, there was _no_ way he could pay for that, and he'd prefer a couple of root canals with no anesthetic than to ask Hardcase for the repair money...again.

Unfortunately, the case file on the seat beside him held the promise of yet another crime fighting adventure...he just knew it. He had refused to discuss the file with Frank, practically snatching it from his hands with a quick apology and a tap on the face of his watch, and he had not been even remotely interested in opening the thin folder in the car. He simply did not want to know.

While he had waited in the endless line of traffic, watching bored patrolmen sweeping glass from the roadway, his mind went back to the topic Benny had broached that morning just as McCormick had been about to end the call...

"_Oh, by the way, Skid, did that guy ever find you?"_

"_What guy?" Mark asked._

"_There was some guy...a couple of days ago. Asked if I knew you, where you lived, stuff like that."_

_Mark frowned. "What'ja tell him?"_

" _I told him I don't know nothin' about my customers except if their checks cash or not. I...uh... I did give him your address, though. Didn't see no harm in that."_

"_Benny..."_

"_Hey," the mechanic broke in. "He didn't sound like no o-fficial guy. Just a regular looking dude. Talked like you."_

"_Talked like what?"_

"_Accent...thicker than yours... New York, Jersey, maybe. Figured he was one of your old racing buddies, looking you up_..."

_Yeah, probably..._The conversation ended there, with McCormick receiving a promise of at least taking a look at the Coyote and its elusive oil leak if he could deliver it to the garage by noon. But there wasn't much of a chance of that happening now.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Hardcastle sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He had read everything in the slim file on his desk backward and forward, and was still fresh out of ideas on how to approach the case. Harper had called two hours earlier with more information; with a long suffering glare, McCormick had finally abandoned his repairs on the Coyote to fetch it. Now, two cups of coffee and three increasingly irritated glances at the clock later, Hardcastle looked up from the files he was alphabetizing. The sound of an engine running, then shutting off got his attention: _Not the Coyote, not loud enough._ A door slammed outside as the judge rose from his seat and peered out the den window.

A nondescript blue sedan was parked next to the fountain. Its driver stood, one hand resting on the door handle, as if he was unsure of his location. Mid fifties, muscular, casually dressed, with salt and pepper hair and craggy features that rang no bells with the judge. Hardcastle watched as he glanced around, turning a complete 360 before stepping away from the car to approach the front steps.

Hardcastle met him at the front door before the stranger had a chance to knock. "Mornin', can I help you?"

The man froze, obviously startled by the judge's booming voice and looming presence in the doorway.

"Well, maybe...I ..." he glanced around the estate again. " I guess I'm lost, got my directions mixed up or something."

Hardcastle caught the rough twang of an east coast accent...New York, maybe. "What address were you looking for?"

"Ah, this is the address I was given, but..." the man shook his head. "There must be a mistake."

"Okay, let me ask this another way," the judge said. "_Who_ are you looking for?"

"Someone I knew a long time ago. His name is Mark McCormick."

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Mark's mood had not improved as he rolled the Coyote sharply to the left toward the garage. He stopped just outside the open doors, climbed out and grabbed a tarp from an overhead shelf.

"What are you doing?"Hardcastle asked from the back steps as he watched Mark spread the canvas over the concrete floor.

Mark rolled his eyes but didn't look up. "What does it look like I'm doing? I've still got that oil leak somewhere, and since you probably have plans for me that don't include finding it, at least I can keep it from dripping all over the floor."

"Someone was here looking for you while you were gone."

Mark brushed dust from the tarp from his hands as he joined the judge in the driveway.

"Who was it?"

"I don't know."

Hardcastle waited patiently while Mark turned the Coyote around in the drive and backed it onto the tarp. Once Mark had the car situated to his liking, the judge continued. "Said he knew you from a long time ago."

Hardcastle stepped back out into the sunshine, then realized McCormick was no longer walking with him. He turned back to see the suspicion on the younger man's face.

"_How _long ago?"

Hardcastle leaned forward as if to intimate a secret. "_I...don't...know"_, he growled. "He didn't say and I didn't ask him. I gave him your phone number and he said he'd call. I didn't even get his name. That's all."

_Only because you didn't have time, Hardcase._ There was very little Hardcastle couldn't weasel out of a person, given the opportunity. He could testify to that from personal experience. And was there just a hint of frustration behind that comment, that there might be someone in McCormick's past that he didn't know about, or have an entry or two in his ever growing file in the judge's desk? _Maybe I'll just keep the donkey in the dark about this ._ _It won't hurt Hardcase to step out of my personal life once in a while._

"Oh, almost forgot. Here's your file." Mark handed the folder to the judge. "Happy reading. I've got a oil leak to find. "

"You're not in some kind of trouble, are you?" Hardcastle growled as McCormick headed back to the garage.

"Not today, but hey, the day is young."

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

The judge looked up from the files scattered around his desk as Mark came in and settled into a chair. "Your friend call back yet?"

Mark sat back in the chair. "Nope. So, what's with the file you had me fetch this morning? I thought you already had a case you were nosing into."

Hardcastle studied his young friend for a moment The seamless way McCormick had segued into the case and veered the conversation away from his question had not been lost on him. But he decided to let it be for now.

"Oh, this is not a new case," he replied. "Frank just sent me some more information. I've been making some calls, checking out some stuff." He passed the folder over to McCormick and sat back in his chair.

"This guy runs a used car lot and garage downtown. Don't have a clear photo of him yet. Cops suspect him of running a chop shop, fencing stolen parts, stuff like that. Got busted a couple of months ago. He had a slick lawyer, I have to give him that. Made the case that his client didn't know the car was hot and that it was on his property just for repairs. He had a solid alibi for the times that the car was boosted, and no one who worked for the guy who would testify against him."

"So, he walked," McCormick said, the unopened file still in his hand.

"Now it seems he's back in business. The word is, he recruits kids off the street to boost the cars for him. He pays the kids off, the parts disappear to chop shops in Mexico, probably. There's a lot of traffic in and out of the shop, so there's probably a drug operation going on, too."

Mark thought for a moment. "Why does he use kids? Gang members?"

"Nah." The judge sat back in his chair. "Gang bangers want too much of the action. Word is, he recruits kids on the edge, street kids looking for a hustle, a quick dime. Some of them get paid in dope, others in cash. Guess there's plenty of kids out there on the street that'll do anything for a quick score."

Mark considered that for a moment. "Yeah, I guess there are. What's this guy's name?"

The judge frowned. "It's in that folder...the one you're twisting into a toothpick there."

"Oh, sorry." Mark loosened his grip on the file but made no move to open it.

Hardcastle frowned again. "What's up with you? "

"Huh? Nothing, judge. Just thinking, that's all."

"Jack Benson."

"Who?"

"Pay attention, McCormick. The sludge ball's name is Jack Benson. We don't have a background on him yet . Frank's working on it."

"So what is it about this case that lit up your radar screen?"

"Keep reading."

The judge watched as Mark sat back and opened the file, spreading several sheets across his lap as he read. _Something is bugging him. Not one smart mouth comment since he came in. Maybe the case hits a little too close to home. Nah, he's past all that now. But still..._

"Frank thinks he's tied in to a murder?"

The judge blinked out of his reverie and nodded. "A kid named Alvarez, had a juvie record for petty theft, shoplifting, nothing major. Family members, teachers, all said he was a good kid, just needed a little guidance. He got pulled over in a stolen car. The D.A. was pushing to prosecute him as an adult for the GTA and he got scared. Said he's be willing to turn state's evidence against Benson, the cars, the drugs, everything, and they were about to make a deal."

"And the kid had an accident?"

"Someone posted his bail, anonymously of course. He hit the streets and three hours later, he was dead in an alley."

"Drugs?"

"Nope. Someone beat him to death."

"They_ what?" _Mark looked stricken as he glanced down at the file in his lap.

"Definitely not a robbery. The kid had fifty bucks in his pocket and a solid gold chain around his neck. Somebody used him to make a point."

Mark closed the file and handed it back to the judge. "Explains why Benson's employees are so loyal to their boss." He stood suddenly and walked slowly to the window.

Hardcastle waited for several seconds; when no further input was forthcoming, he continued. "So, now we just have to figure out a way to get close to this guy, and catch him in the act."

A long moment passed before McCormick responded. "You're kidding, right?" he asked. "This is a police matter, judge. These guys are professionals. You can't just hide around the corner and hope to catch them with their hands in the cookie jar."

McCormick expected a sharp retort; instead, the judge nodded his head in agreement. "Yeah, I'm still working on how to get a inside line on this guy. After all," he grinned, "You're a bit too old to send in undercover on this one."

"You have no idea how thrilled I am to hear you say that." Mark said as he turned from the window to stand in front of the desk. "So, what's the plan, Kemo-Sabe?"

"Don't have one yet." Hardcastle sat back, dogged determination in his expression. "But I will."

Mark smiled. "I don't doubt that for a minute." He turned to leave and had barely reached the landing when the judge cleared his throat.

"You didn't tell me if you'd figured out who that guy was, the guy that was looking for you."

McCormick grimaced. _That close to a clean getaway._

"No, I didn't, did I?" he grinned as he slid backwards through the doorway and out the front door. The insolent look he flashed as he stepped outside slipped away as he headed for the gatehouse. _I just hope I'm over-reacting here, 'cause if I'm not, you're not the only one without a plan._

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

The phone was ringing as Mark entered the gatehouse. He turned back to shut the door and noticed a small piece of paper lying in the doorway, as if someone had slipped it under his door. He grabbed the phone in mid ring as he kicked his greasy sneakers into the corner and glanced at what turned out to be a business card.

"Hello."

"_Ah, yes...Is this Mark McCormick's residence?"_

The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but no name came to mind in the few seconds of hesitation he allowed before answering.

"Yes, it is. Who's this?"

"_You don't recognize my voice, do you?"_

"Nope. Any reason why I should?" He wasn't usually this short on the telephone, but he wasn't usually sweaty, tired and reeking of oil and brake dust this early in the day.

"_It's Jack. Jack Baker. Remember me now?"_

Mark froze as memory kicked in and locked the voice on the phone with a name he hadn't heard in years. The voice was deeper, more gravelly than he remembered, but the accent was unmistakable and the inflection the same. "Jack?"

"_You're a hard guy to find. I knew you were in LA somewhere, but it took me a while to_ _find you."_

Mark sank down on the sofa and switched the phone to his other hand, slipping the now forgotten card into his pocket. "How _did_ you find me?"

"_Well, I figured if I checked out the local tracks, somebody would know you. They said you weren't racing anymore, but you had this souped up car. I checked a couple of garages, figured a car like that...somebody would remember, and they did_."

"You talked to Benny."

"_Yep."_

Mark made a mental note to remind his mechanic about discretion being the better part of valor. And then Benny would probably remind Mark that he wasn't _supposed _to be on the run from anyone anymore.

"_I'd like to see you sometime, Mark."_ The request wasn't totally unexpected, and yet McCormick felt the tension tightening his shoulders.

"I don't think that's such a good idea. Besides, I don't plan on going back to Jersey any time soon."

"_I'm here in LA."_

Mark closed his eyes and wondered how he was gonna talk himself out of _this_ one.

"_Look, I know I kinda surprised you...It has been a long time. How about I let you think about it and I'll get back to you, okay?"_

The voice was smooth, convincing, just like he remembered it. It was almost beguiling enough to cloud his judgement and short circuit his common sense...that is, until he glanced out the window and saw Hardcastle across the way, standing at the pool's edge and staring at the water, hands on his hips.

"Yeah...you do that. Get back with me. Look, I gotta go." Mark hung up the phone, and as he glanced out the window again, wondered how he would explain it to the judge if he suddenly got his phone number changed.

_This is a dumb plan, McCormick._ _Hardcase is gonna have your head hanging from the basketball goal if he finds out you came here._ He pulled the Coyote over into a strip mall parking lot and parked within sight of his destination.

After a long and mostly sleepless night, Mark had gotten up early, slipped into sweats and sneakers and gone for a long run on the beach. Once out of site of the main house, he sank down onto the wet sand to catch his breath...and to think.

Poring over the judge's file in his den the day before, Mark had been drawn to the picture of the young man whose attempt to extract himself from a bad situation had landed him into one much worse and much more permanent. The kid's record had been lightweight until the arrest on the auto theft charge; none of his prior brushes with the law had been even remotely connected with anything heavy. And yet, before the ink was dry on his bail ticket, he was lying in a garbage strewn alley, dead from a well administered beating. The thought running in a loop in Mark's head was unavoidable and not unexpected: _That could have been me._

_Benson killed two birds with that stone, literally,_ McCormick thought as he watched a gull dip into the ocean to snare his breakfast from the incoming tide. _He plugged a leak and sent a message to the rest of his team at the same time: step out of line and I will step down on you, permanently._ Twenty minutes staring at the ocean's repetitive assault on the sand failed to remove the stone that had settled in the pit of his stomach, and he finally returned to the gatehouse. After changing clothes, he had slipped unnoticed into the garage, climbed into the Coyote and roared down the PCH toward the city.

The picture had not been the only thing that had robbed him of a restful sleep the night before. He had scanned the file quickly, getting the gist of the case Hardcastle was obsessing over, but something niggled at the back of his mind until he had flipped back to the first page again. None of the names mentioned as potential suspects had rung a bell, but now the address sounded vaguely familiar. Not until he remembered the card in his pocket did the disconnected parts slip into place. He remembered taking out the crumpled business card, staring at it as if the lettering was written in blood.

_A gory simile, but essentially correct,_ McCormick mused as he stared at the building across the street. He took a deep breath, threw the car into gear and crossed over the four lanes of oncoming traffic before common sense could kick in and change his mind.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

The auto shop looked like every other repair shop he had ever seen; the waiting area held a few utilitarian metal chairs with worn vinyl upholstery, one lone, stained coffee table with scattered copies of Car and Driver of unknown age and several overflowing ash trays. Mark stepped to the sliding window mounted on the far wall and waited. After several minutes, a kid with greasy hair and an equally greasy rag draped over his shoulder approached from the other side and slid open the glass.

"Can I help you, man?" he asked. Before McCormick could answer, the mechanic's eyes drifted over his shoulder to the sleek machine parked just outside the door.

"Damn, man. That is _sweet. _That your wheels?"

"Ah, yeah." Mark raised his voice, both to get the kid's attention as well as to be heard over the sounds of air wrenches in the working area of the shop. "I'm looking for somebody."

The kid looked disappointed for a moment, then the studied air of indifference returned to his expression. "Yeah? Who?"

"Jack. Is he here?"

"Yeah, he's in the back. Come on through." The mechanic disappeared for a moment from the window; a moment later the door to the shop area swung open. "He's back there, last door on the right."

Mark stepped into the shop, watching the kid cast one more yearning look at the Coyote. Then the door swung shut behind him and the kid returned to the inner workings of a late model Lexus engine, the visitor obviously already forgotten.

As he walked through the shop, Mark casually studied the other young men working diligently on their own vehicles. _Not one of them a day over nineteen,_ he observed as he turned his attention to the office set into the rear wall of the building, and the man who had risen from his chair and now stood in the office doorway, a bemused smile upon his face.

"I must say," the older man spoke as Mark approached. "I sure didn't expect to see you here."

"Well, you called," Mark shrugged. "You caught me on the downside of a really bad day." Mark offered a smile, but it felt tight and unnatural and he finally turned away to gaze out into the shop.

"And today is better?"

"Not really,"Mark shook his head. "You see, I'm having some problems with the Coyote, and..."

"The _what?_"

"My car. It's called a Coyote."

The older man nodded.

"My regular mechanic is out of town. I was wondering if you had someone who could check out the brakes for me."

"Sure. Gimme the keys"

"No offense, but how about I drive it in? I'm kinda particular."

"Not a problem. Pull it into that empty stall on the left. I'll have Randy take a look at it. He's my best. I taught him everything he knows."

"_I'll just bet you did,"_ Mark thought to himself as he made his way back to the ailing Coyote parked outside.

McCormick supervised the positioning of his prized Coyote onto the lift and watched the awestruck young man as he ducked under the car and set to work. Jack had retired to his office to answer the phone, and the other young mechanics had left for lunch, so Mark took advantage of the moment by casually walking around the garage area. A short time later, Baker returned to the shop and motioned to Mark.

"He'll have it fixed in no time. Come on in, take a load off."

"Coffee?" He asked as Mark settled into a vacant chair in the cramped office.

"No thanks. "McCormick glanced around as the older man closed the office door. "So, what do I call you? Benson, Baker, what?"

"I guess you're wondering about the name change."

"Name change, or alias?"

"Whatever you wanna call it," Jack Baker said. "I came out here to start over, you know."

"Clean?"

Baker smiled as he circled the cluttered desk. "What do _you_ think?"

"_You don't wanna know what I think._ Mark forced himself to relax as he shrugged his shoulders. "I'd say it doesn't really matter."

After refilling his own cup, Baker sat down behind his desk and studied the younger man.

"Your car, it's a prototype, one of a kind, right?"

Mark nodded. _This is crazy. After all our history, he wants to talk cars. We always could talk about cars, couldn't we? The only thing we ever had in common._

"How'd you end up with it? Cars like that cost a hell of a lot of dough."

Mark shifted in his chair. "It was designed by a friend of mine. After he...died... his daughter gave it to me. She said he designed it for me to drive, and he would have wanted me to have it."

"Yeah, I read about what happened to Flip Johnson." When he saw Mark's surprised expression, he continued. " I did keep up with you over the years, you know. Too bad you never felt the urge to return the favor."

Mark felt the familiar twist in his stomach at the sudden change in Baker's demeanor.

"There was nothing back in Jersey for me."

"Not even your family." Baker's voice was cold, accusing.

Mark's tone was equally frigid as he met the older man's gaze. "I don't have any family in Jersey. Haven't since I was fifteen years old." _This was such a huge mistake. _The sudden urge to leave was dampened by the sight of the Coyote, still up on the lift.

"So why _are_ you here? Not because of the car."

Mark rose from his chair, relieved to hear the hum of the pneumatics as the Coyote was slowly eased back down onto the floor, realizing that maybe his common sense had finally decided to make a belated appearance after all.

McCormick blew out a deep breath. "To tell you the truth, I really don't know." He yanked the door open and was halfway across the shop before he realized that Jack had followed him.

"Wait."

After watching the young mechanic carefully back the Coyote out of the garage, Mark followed, stepping out into the mid morning heat before he turned to face the older man. Baker studied him for a moment, as if pondering what to say next. Finally he crossed his arms over his chest and smiled.

"The repair job...it's on the house, okay? You know, I meant what I said. I looked you up to make sure you were doing all right, see if you needed any help."

Mark felt the crawl of goosebumps down his spine as he recalled the kind of help he had received from this man in the past. The smile he offered in return felt forced; he wondered if he was as transparent to the other man as he felt. "Yeah, well, I'm doing okay...thanks."

The two men locked gazes across the sun cracked drive. Neither spoke for a long moment; finally the older man broke the silence with a deep throated chuckle.

"You do look shell shocked, Mark. Guess I was probably the last person you expected to see after all this time, huh?"

Mark blinked once and continued to study the older man, his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Been a long time."

Mark nodded, fighting the urge to just climb into the Coyote and leave.

"The big house, the car..looks like you've done all right for yourself."

"That isn't my place."

"Oh, I know that. But you live there, right?"

Mark tilted his head and nodded. "I live there."

When it became obvious that Mark didn't plan to elaborate, the older man glanced over Mark's shoulder. "Is that really your car?"

"Yeah, it is. I told you already."

"Mind if I take a closer look at it?"

McCormick paused a beat, then shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, go ahead."

Mark stepped back into the shade outside the garage doorway, watching as the older man walked slowly around the Coyote, whistling softly as he completed his circuit.

"Now, this is _nice_."

"What are you doing here, Jack?"

The man glanced up as he ran his hand down the sleek lines of the car body. "Working, what does it look like?"

"No, I mean in California."

Jack leaned against the fender and crossed his arms over his chest. "I got sick of the cold winters in Jersey. Saved a little money, decided to come out here, enjoy the sunshine."

"Alone?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "Janet and I divorced a few years ago. Right after I got out of the joint. But I guess you didn't know that. You been out of touch a long time, boy."

McCormick shrugged his shoulders and looked away.

"Twelve years," Jack continued. " Nothing, not a word for twelve years."

Mark stared at the older man a moment. " You didn't actually expect me to come _back,_ did you?"He didn't wait for a reply; since he really didn't expect one. "I moved on a long time ago. I'm not the same person you knew back then."

"So I heard."

McCormick paused, then walked past Baker and reached for the car door. "Like you said, we've been out of touch for a long time. So just what did you _hear?_"

"That you did some time."

Mark turned to find the older man standing directly in his path, a little too close for his liking, but he refused to back away. "So? You're not exactly a choir boy yourself."

Jack's manner suddenly changed; all pretense of civility gone. "The guys I talked to said you had a good shot at being a decent race driver. What the hell happened?"

Mark yanked the car door up as he turned away. "I really don't want to talk about this with you."

"I'll tell ya what happened. You got stupid, and you got caught."

McCormick froze, his back still turned away from the older man, fists clenched at his side.

"I taught you better than that."

Mark turned on his heel and strode back to where the man stood. "Listen, if you looked me up to relive the old days, you wasted your time. A lot of things have changed since then."

"Obviously." Jack offered a slow, cold smile. "So much for the tearful reunion, eh? But, look. I didn't mean for us to start out like this. I did go to a lot of trouble to find out where you were."

"Why?"

"Guess I had this foolish idea that you might need my help or something."

Mark shook his head in disbelief. "Why don't you tell me the real reason?"

"I already told you." Baker's eyes narrowed as he stared the younger man down. "You look worried, Mark. Looks like you got a real soft setup going here now. Guess I'd be worried too, if I thought I was gonna lose it."

"Is that a _threat?_"

"Of course not." Baker spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. " I just thought I would look you up, see how you turned out."

"I'm doing just fine."

"I can see that. Well, you know where to find me if anything changes. I certainly know where to find _you. _" Jack Baker reached into his pocket and pulled out a money clip. He slipped out a crisp hundred dollar bill and pressed it into Mark's hand. "You best remember who your _friends_ are, okay?"

"What is this for?" Mark indicated the bill in his hand. " Is this your way of telling me you're back in business again? I'm not one of your _boys_ anymore."

"Fishing for information, Mark? That what this little visit was all about? Your judge friend send you out here?"

McCormick stepped away from the Coyote and into the older man's personal space with no intention of backing down. "The Judge has nothing to do with this. This is between you and me and you know it."

"You're just as bad a liar as you've always been," Baker hissed. "You better back off. You're playing in my park now."

McCormick turned without a word, sliding into the Coyote as he felt the older man's eyes still glaring at him. He slammed the door, but before he could fire the ignition, Baker was leaning into the car.

"I know what you're up to. I might have been stupid once, but I never make that mistake twice. You best remember that." He straightened, smoothing the lines of his suit as he watched Mark slam the Coyote into reverse.

"I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again soon."

Mark glanced down at the now crumpled money in his hand as he gunned the motor and backed out into traffic. _God, I hope not, _he thought, tossing the bill out the window as he sped away.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

"Milt? You in there?"

Hardcastle stepped into the hallway and returned the hail. "Back here, Frank."

Lt. Frank Harper stuck his head into the kitchen to see the judge standing at the counter, adorned in a grease stained apron, molding mounds of ground beef into thick patties. "Your night to cook, eh?"

"Actually, we ate earlier. I just got a good deal on ground beef, decided to stock up in the freezer." He looked down at the heavily laden platter."The coals are still hot. I can toss a couple of these babies on for you."

Frank shook his head. "Nah, I appreciate it, but I can't stay." He glanced around the kitchen. "Where's your shadow?"

"McCormick?" Hardcastle wrapped the last of the patties in wax paper and stacked them in the freezer. "He was here for dinner...of course...and then he said he was gonna go take a shower and turn in early."

After washing his hands and wiping down the counter, Hardcastle turned to his friend, who stood in the kitchen doorway with a pensive expression on his face. "So...if you don't have time for a burger, that must mean this isn't a social call."

Frank sighed and shook his head. It was then that Hardcastle noticed the large envelope in Frank's hand. "Okay, let's go sit down in the den, see whatcha got."

The judge entered the den, switching on the lights as he went, then turned back to his unusually reticent friend. "What's the matter, Frank?"

Harper made no move to surrender the envelope; if anything, his grip on the paper tightened. "You know, you and McCormick have been a big help on some of my cases the past few years. I know how you two like to operate sometimes, and all I ask is just to be brought up to speed now and then. That's not too much to ask, is it?"

"And we _do_."

"And I know you," Harper continued. "You don't take unnecessary chances and you don't jeopardize any ongoing police operations."

"You _are_ going somewhere with this, aren't you?" The judge frowned, leaning back in his chair.

"I just need to know something, Milt."

"Then, ask already, and stop hemming and hawing."

Frank reluctantly handed the envelope over before easing down into a chair. "Tell me what I'm looking at here."

Hardcastle opened the envelope and spread its contents over the top of the desk. A full minute passed before he sat back, drumming his fingers on the wood. "Can I keep this?"

"Yeah, I made copies. Milt, you're not giving me the answer I was hoping for here."

"Yeah, well..." Hardcastle rose from his chair, signaling that their visit was drawing to a close. "Can you sit on this for a while?"

"Milt..." Frank replied as he followed the judge to the front door.. "You know I can't promise that."

"Give me until tomorrow morning."

Harper blew out a resigned breath. "Tomorrow, Milt. After that, it's out of my hands." A thought occurred to him as he paused on the top step. "You_ do_ know what this is all about, right?"

"We'll talk about it tomorrow, Frank. Good night." The door closed after the judge, leaving one police lieutenant standing in the twilight, more confused than he was when he arrived.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Hardcastle waited until Frank's car was out of sight before trudging down the drive, envelope in hand. The lights were off in the gatehouse, but the judge pounded on the door anyway. After waiting several minutes with no response from inside, it was obvious that McCormick either wasn't inside or wasn't going to answer the door. His face set in a frown, Hardcastle walked back to the main house, circling around to the back to confirm the Coyote still in its normal place in the garage. As he approached the kitchen door, he paused, then backtracked down the steps and circled around the stone wall that bordered the near end of the pool.

In the twilight, aided by the reflection of the setting sun on the surface, he could see McCormick's profile as he sat motionless in a chair near the edge of the pool. The younger man gave no indication that he heard the judge's approach.

"What are ya doing out here, McCormick?"

McCormick continued to stare out at the water. "Nothing," he said finally. "Just thinking."

"Well," the judge growled. "Since you've got your brain in gear, think about this." He stepped forward and tossed the envelope onto the table at Mark's elbow.

McCormick glanced down at the envelope, then up at the judge. When no further explanation was forthcoming, Mark rose slowly from his chair, stopping on the opposite side. "What is it?"

"That's what I want you to tell me."

Mark undid the clasp and dumped the envelope's contents onto the tabletop. He spread several photographs out, staring at them silently as Hardcastle waited, showing his dwindling impatience by shifting from foot to foot. The older man quickly reached his limit as McCormick slid the pictures back into the envelope and then turned to stare out across the lawn toward the ocean again.

"You wanna tell me what you were doing there?" Hardcastle asked, his voice edged with irritation.

"What, are you having me followed now, Hardcase?" Mark threw back over his shoulder.

"No, damn it, I am _not_ having you followed, although maybe I should. Why'd you go there?"

Hardcastle rounded the table to stand next to McCormick, who continued to look anywhere except in the eyes of his inquisitor. "I'm waiting."

"I told you the Coyote had bad brakes, and Benny..."

"Benny was outta town, yeah, I remember. But you drove past a half dozen other garages to get to this one. And you knew this particular one is the case I'm trying to get a line on, for drugs, stolen cars and maybe a murder. So tell me why you went there."

"You said you needed someone on the inside, couldn't figure out a way to do it. All I had to do was walk in the front door."

"Did it ever occur to you, that if a business is under suspicion, that it is probably also under _surveillance? Huh?"_ Hardcastle's voice got louder with every word, until by the end of the judge's tirade, Mark had involuntarily taken a step to the side, but Hardcastle wasn't finished yet. He reached out, snatched the envelope from Mark's hand and withdrew several photos. "These pictures are pretty grainy, but even I recognize the guy you're being so chummy with here. It's the same guy who showed up here looking for you the other day. Tell me I'm wrong."

A long beat passed. "You're not wrong," Mark finally replied.

"And this?" The judge held up another picture, and this time Mark didn't have to look at it to know the story the picture told. "This one is pretty clear. I can almost see Ben Franklin's face in this one. You wanna tell me why a guy from a business under police surveillance is paying _you_ a hundred bucks?"

Mark had starting shaking his head before Hardcastle finished his rant. "He's wasn't paying me, Judge. I know what it looks like, but that's not how it was."

"Then tell me how it was, 'cause I know how it looks. Frank seems to think we've gone off on our own on this one and left him out of the loop. I had to do some fast talking to get him outta here tonight, but tomorrow, he's gonna want some answers. That means, you tell me now, what the hell you're up to."

Mark slowly turned and sank back down into the chair, gazing out at the setting sun much as he had been doing before the judge's arrival. He swallowed once, let out a deep breath. "What do you want to know?"

Hardcastle reached for another deck chair, placing it beside the reticent young man. "Let's start with something simple. This guy," he thumped the pictures in his hand. "You know him from where?"

"Jersey. A long time ago."

"A friend?"

Mark laughed softly. "No...definitely no."

"If he's not a friend, why was he here, looking for you?"

Mark glanced over at the judge, meeting his eyes for the first time. "I really don't know."

When the judge's inquisitive expression changed into a scowl, Mark backtracked. "Well, I don't know for sure."

"What was the hundred dollars for?"

When Mark fell silent, Hardcastle exploded out of his chair, glaring down at his young friend who once again refused to meet his eyes.

"Let me tell you what it looks like. You and I are given privileged _police_ information about an ongoing_ police_ investigation. Two days later, _you_ are photographed making nicey-nice with one of the principles of said investigation, taking what looks like a payoff, and it's all recorded in Eastman-Kodak black and white. And you sit here and don't deny anything. Frank took a big chance bringing me into this. He coulda just shown up with a pair of cuffs and a squad car."

"Is that what you think, too, Judge?" McCormick pushed off the chair to stand toe to toe with the irate judge. "That I warned off a suspect for a lousy hundred bucks? Even _I_ don't come that cheap."

"If I thought that, I'd be reading you your rights myself."

"You wanted a way in, I'm giving it to you. And for the record, his name's not Benson. It's Baker. Jack Baker."

Hardcastle crossed his arms over his chest. "That's the first useful piece of information you've given me all night. Now tell me the rest. So you know him, he knows you. You think this guy will trust you enough to let you in on his operation, after all these years?"

"After all these years..." Mark offered a tight smile. "No, he's not gonna trust me at all. But he does know me; he also knows I live here with you. He's smart, Judge. He didn't just show up here for a social call. It was his way of letting us know that _he_ knows he's being watched, and that he knows you're on the case now, too."

Mark gestured to the pictures in the judge's hand. "Even I can see that for a setup, judge. Why do you think he waited until we were outside to give me that money? He knew the surveillance team was out there, taking pictures. He's played this game a long time. He knew those pictures would discredit me and anything I could tell the police about him now. He's smart and he's dangerous. And maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe he's letting me know that he's watching _me_."

"You two have a grudge to settle or something?"

Mark wrapped his arms around his body as if to ward off an involuntary chill."I don't, but he does. I told you he wouldn't trust me, but I didn't tell you why. I guess you'll find out as soon as you have Frank run his real name through the computers. Judge," McCormick turned to Hardcastle; in the fading light, Hardcastle saw a fleeting expression of sadness, quickly replaced by resignation. "Twelve years ago, before I left New Jersey, Jack Baker went to prison...and I sent him there."

MMMMMMMMMMMM

"You did _what?_ Twelve years ago?" Hardcastle repeated. "You were just a kid back then."

"Seventeen years old," Mark said. "I hadn't been a kid by then for a long, long time."

"So, how'd you get hooked up with Benson, or Baker, or whatever the hell his name is?" Hardcastle sat back down; after a moment McCormick joined him, leaning his elbows on the table top.

"You know my mom died when I was fourteen. My aunt and uncle took me in; I don't think they really wanted to be saddled with me, but they didn't have much choice. I was kinda crazy back then; hung out on the streets a lot. I had a lot of anger in me."

Hardcastle nodded, his hands laced together across his lap as he listened.

"Jack was everybody's friend...the guy you went to if you needed a little cash, or a case of beer for a party where none of the guests were old enough to buy it legally, or just an ear to listen to your problems, you know? An all around good guy.

"But he also had a lucrative side business going. He sold hot cars, mostly for parts. He had a way of finding the guys on the street that needed a father figure, coerced them into boosting the cars for him. He always made sure they got what they needed: cash, dope, alcohol, whatever."

"He sounds like a predator."

Mark glanced up, surprised at the venom in the judge's statement. Then he nodded. "Yeah, I guess he was. But if you're spending most of your time on the streets, everyday is another day you have to survive. Jack made that survival a little easier, and he just asked for a job now and then in return."

"So you got hooked up with this guy, he lured you in with promises of easy money. You were a kid, kids make dumb choices sometimes."

"I didn't exactly hook up with him, judge,"Mark said as he sagged back into the deck chair and stared off into the fading sunset. "I lived with him. Jack Baker is my uncle."

"He's your _family_?"

"No."McCormick leapt to his feet and paced to the edge of the pool and back. "He married my mom's sister. He's not related to me."

"Marrying into a family makes you part of that family, McCormick."

"Well, you tell good old Jack about family values. Where do you think I learned how to hot-wire cars? That's not a skill you pick up through trial and error, you know."

The judge sat, chin cradled on his fist, watching his young friend pace back and forth. "You said you sent him to prison."

Mark stopped in front of Hardcastle's chair and looked down at him. "Not singlehandedly, of course, but I testified against him in court. It's kinda hard to beat a rap when your own family testifies against you."

"So, why _did_ you testify against him?"

McCormick turned, staring out at the rapidly fading sunset. After a moment he returned to his seat. " I didn't have much choice. You know about the joyriding beef I got as a minor?"

The judge shrugged and found himself pinned by McCormick's irritated glare. "Don't give me that look. You told me you knew about that the day you interviewed me in your chambers for this sidekick job. You weren't _supposed_ to know about it, but you did." When Hardcastle offered no more than a sheepish smile, Mark continued. "Well, so much for juvenile records being sealed."

"Get back to the story," Hardcastle prodded.

"Well, my story reads pretty much like the Alvarez kid in your file. I was seventeen, and I got pulled over in a car that didn't belong to me. The cops wanted to process me as an adult; I think they knew I boosted the car for Jack, and they were more interested in busting him than me. They offered me a deal and I took it."

Hardcastle nodded as he leaned across the table. "You did the right thing. And you were lucky you ended up with probation and not a stretch in a juvie facility."

"That's not all of the story, judge."

"I kinda figured that."

Mark blew out a long breath as he sat back in the chair and gazed at the twilight sky. "They used the information I gave them to get a search warrant, and they hit the mother lode at Jack's shop...alcohol, drugs and three stolen cars. He already had a record, so with my testimony, he got a seven-to-ten year sentence. I found out about that much later, 'cause I got out of town as soon as the probation board signed my papers. It didn't really matter whether Jack was convicted or not; I knew if I stuck around, he'd kill me."

"You think that, eh?"

"I_ know_ it. I've seen him beat the crap out of guys for lifting a radio or a set of speakers out of a hot car. You've seen him; he used to be a boxer. He didn't keep his "boys" in line with a gun; he didn't have to."

"And now he's here."

"Yeah," Mark said softly.

"And you were _stupid _enough to go waltzing into his shop...alone, knowing what could happen. What else aren't you telling me?"

Mark ignored the judge's question as he reached into his pocket and handed the judge a slip of paper. " I got these plate numbers on the cars in Jack's shop while he was on the phone. He always left the plates on until they stripped the cars down after hours. That way, if a real customer looked in the back, it would look like a real repair shop."

"Have you completely lost your _mind?_" Hardcastle growled. "What if he had caught you doing that?"

"Well, he didn't. Get Frank to run the plates, see if they show up on the hot sheet. There were four cars there yesterday. If Jack's running his new business the way he used to, he only keeps one legit car around for show. He made enough money running the hot ones, he didn't have to do much in the way of real repair work, just enough to make it all look good. "

Hardcastle took the paper and slipped it into his pocket. "I just have one more question, and I want a serious answer. Are you worried about this guy coming after you? 'Cause if you are, or if you have any second thoughts about getting involved in this case..."

"He already knows where I live, judge. And I'm not gonna hide from him." Mark sat up, meeting Hardcastle's eyes. " I want to help you get him. And if he's the one that beat that Alvarez kid to death, I want to help you get him for that, too."

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

"I don't know about this, Milt." Frank Harper frowned as he sat back in his swivel chair. "After all, he _is_ Mark's family. If things get ugly, is he gonna have second thoughts?"

"I think there's some bad blood between the two of them," Hardcastle replied with a frown. "And I don't think he's telling me everything. I've got a bad feeling about the whole thing, but, no...I believe he wants to see this through."

"And send his uncle to jail...again?" Harper looked totally unconvinced.

"Dirty is dirty, Frank." Hardcastle rose from his chair. "What I want to know is, what can you do to help us?"

"_Us_ help_ you_? Last I heard, this was an ongoing _police_ investigation," Harper said, shaking his head as he stood to walk Hardcastle to the door.

"And all you've done so far is sit outside the scumball's shop and take pictures. Mark knows the guy, he's got his foot in the door. All I'm asking is assurance that he won't get his paw chopped off in the process."

Harper nodded. "We'll continue surveillance, and I can wire Mark if he wants to go that way. But Milt, please remind Mark that he _is_ still on parole, and if he steps over the line working undercover on this guy, I can't promise anything."

"He says he's gonna get him another way, and that's all he's telling me. We're gonna have to trust him on this."

Harper smirked as he leaned against the doorway. "That must have really stung to admit that out loud, Milt."

"You have no idea," Hardcastle sighed.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

A single drop of sweat slid slowly down Mark McCormick's face as he shielded his eyes from the late afternoon glare of the sun. He had been sitting across from Jack Benson/Baker's shop for almost an hour, waiting for the occupants of the building to leave for the day. Baker had left just a few minutes ago, looking impossibly cool and composed in a late model Mustang as he had roared out of the drive and headed downtown. Mark knew his position a block away had hidden his rather conspicuous ride from Baker's view, but he stared after the retreating tail lights of the Mustang anyway until it had disappeared from sight.

Ten minutes later, his uncomfortable wait in the late summer heat was rewarded, as a slight figure in grimy work clothes exited the building, trudging slowly toward the corner bus stop. Seconds later, the young man turned toward the sound of a powerful engine sliding up behind him, and a vaguely familiar voice making him an offer he couldn't refuse:

"Hey, Randy," Mark's voice called over the roar of the Coyote's idle. "Need a ride?"

It was all Mark could do to keep a straight face as he observed his passenger from the corner of his eye. The boy was obviously glowing with excitement as the Coyote sped through the early evening traffic, and was just as obvious in his efforts to appear nonchalant. His eyes widened as Mark navigated his way through the gates of an small race track outside of town.

"I know the owners," McCormick smiled as he waved at a mechanic packing up his tools near a pit stall. "Wanna take her for a spin?"

"Are you kidding me?" Randy's eyes were almost impossibly wide at this point.

"Nope." Mark angled the Coyote through a narrow gate and slid to a stop near the weathered start/finish line. "You _do_ have a driver's license, don't you?"

Randy's eyebrows dropped back to their normal unaffected position. "Of course I do. I'm almost nineteen."

_Seventeen if he's a day_, Mark thought as he hopped out the window. "Well, then. Let's trade places and see if you got what it takes."

Randy's grin returned with a vengeance. "Not gonna let me go solo?"

"Not a chance. My insurance premiums are killing me as it is."

As Mark slid into the passenger side window, Randy did the same on the driver's side. Mark watched with a smile as the young man tentatively wrapped his hands around the steering wheel, staring out at the expanse of race track ahead. "Now would be a real good time to tell me if you only did a half-assed job on my brakes the other day," McCormick said as he fastened his seat belt.

"Not a chance,"Randy echoed as he took a deep breath and reached for the gear shift. "I know my way around cars, man."

"Okay, then. Let her rip. Just watch out in turn two; there's a nasty bump on the high side."

Four circuits around the well traveled track later, a jubilant Randy and a dry mouthed McCormick were once again changing places. "That was like..._awesome,_ man," Randy practically bounced through the window and into the passenger seat. "I never thought I'd _ever _get to drive something like this."

"You handled it pretty well, kid. She doesn't respond to just anybody, you know." Mark gunned the engine, meeting Randy's inquisitive glance as he headed back out around the track, but at a much more sedate speed. "I thought we'd talk a minute before I take you home."

Mark could almost hear the shutters slamming down as the indifferent expression returned to the teenager's face. Neither spoke until Mark approached turn three, then Randy turned to him with a sigh. "I figured you wanted something. How come you come to me and not Jack?"

Mark almost missed the turn before he recovered from the near skid and brought the Coyote to a stop. "What's Jack got to do with this?"

"You tell me." Randy slouched down in the seat and stared out across the track.

Mark drummed his fingertips against the wheel before turning back to the boy. "Jack's my uncle."

"No shit." Randy almost succeeded in keeping his disbelief out of his voice. "How come I ain't never seen you around the shop before?"

"I didn't know Jack was in LA until a few days ago. I haven't seen him since I left Jersey when I was seventeen."

Randy considered this, then nodded before glancing back at the older man. "How come you took off?"

"Jack and I had a ... misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding, my ass, "Randy said. "Going to prison ain't just a _misunderstanding._"

Now it was Mark's turn to look stunned. The kid glanced at him, then laughed. "Yeah, man. He told me all about you after you left the shop in such a hurry the other day."

"I see." Mark said as he leaned forward. "Just what did dear old Uncle Jack say about me, anyway?"

"Just that he gave you a home when you had no place else to go, and when he got into some trouble with the cops, you narc'd on him to save your own ass."

"Did he also tell you that I was the one who got arrested first? I was lifting cars for him, Randy." When the boy snorted and turned away, Mark grabbed his shoulder. "I was still in high school, not even as old as you are now, committing felonies for beer money. I was going down, Randy." Mark sighed as the boy continued to stare stone faced out the front windshield.

"I was one month shy of my seventeenth birthday. They were gonna charge me as an adult and send me away for grand theft auto. Maybe they could do that and maybe they couldn't, but I was scared shitless and they knew it. They offered me a deal and I took it. I didn't have a choice." Mark wondered as the boy remained silent why it suddenly seemed so important to make excuses for his actions so many years ago.

"Tell me about Juan Alvarez."

Mark registered the sudden tension in the boy's clenched fists as soon as he heard the question. "Was he a friend of yours?"

"I'm ready to go home now," Randy growled without meeting Mark's eyes.

"I know he worked at the shop with you. He rode the bus in with you everyday, lived just down the block from your house. And now he's dead."

"Ain't got nothin' to do with me."

"Sure it does," Mark shot back. "He didn't just get mugged and we both know it."

"You don't know shit." Randy hissed. "And if you don't take me home right now, I'm gonna walk."

"No, you're not." Mark shifted the idling engine into gear and headed off the track toward the highway. "And I know a lot more than you think I do. I know Jack and that's enough for me."

The ride back into the city was spent in silence. As Mark pulled into a deserted parking lot next to the bus stop, he turned to the sullen teenager once again.

"Listen, Randy," he said quietly. "I've been to prison. I didn't care for it, and I damn sure don't ever plan to go back there again. You might see Jack as a savior, someone who looks out for you, helps you out when things are tight. He wants you to see him that way; he wants you to feel indebted to him. But you don't owe him anything. You don't owe him your future, because believe me, if you get burned hustling for him, when the heat comes down, he won't give you the time of day."

As Randy popped the door open and stepped out onto the sidewalk, Mark gave it one last shot. "Take this." He leaned across the seat and pressed a folded square of paper into the boy's hand. "It's my phone number. You can call me, anytime, day or night. I have friends who can get you away from him, give you a chance to go straight before it's too late. Remember Juan, okay? Remember what I said. If Juan crossed Jack somehow, that might explain how he ended up in that alley with his skull caved in."

Randy stared at the paper in his hand, and for a moment Mark feared he was about to toss it back in his face. After a long pause, the boy stuffed the note into his jeans pocket. The eyes he lifted to meet McCormick's gaze held uncertainty and an understandable trace of fear.

"Juan was my buddy," he said softly. "He didn't deserve what happened to him." He stepped away from the car and closed the door.

"Neither do you," Mark said as the boy walked away, giving no indication that he heard the older man's last comment. He watched as the young man reached the bus stop, then continued past, his head hung dejectedly between slumped shoulders as he disappeared into the dark.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

"They're doing _what?"_ Mark's voice rose in disbelief as he dropped the paring knife in the sink, the half-peeled potatoes suddenly forgotten.

"They're dropping the surveillance on your uncle's shop," the judge repeated patiently. "Frank said they've wasted enough time and money on the case already. Every car in and out of there has been clean, not a hot one in the bunch. And if there's any drug traffic going on, they haven't been able to spot it." Hardcastle peered over Mark's shoulder. "Those potatoes aren't gonna peel themselves, you know. I'd like to eat before bedtime."

"They can't do that."

"Sure they can. Your tax dollars at work, you know. Gotta show some results for the expense. Looks like it was just a bogus tip."

Mark slowly reached down and retrieved the knife, but made no move toward the half naked potatoes. "What about the dead kid? They're just gonna drop that, too?"

"Of course not, " the judge growled, reaching over and slipping the vegetable back into Mark's lax hand. "It's still an open homicide, just no connection to this case."

Mark stared down at the items in his hand. "Yes, there is. They gotta stay on it...can't let him get away with it again."

Hardcastle paused for a moment, then leaned over into McCormick's line of sight. "Whaddya mean, again?"

The knife clattered into the sink, followed by the potato's dull thud. Mark backed away from the counter, wiped his damp hands on his jeans and turned toward the back door.

"Where the hell are you going? Answer my question!"

The slamming of the door was his only response.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Frank Harper slumped wearily back into his chair as he studied the young man seated across from his desk. "How'd you know I'd be working late tonight?"

McCormick shrugged his shoulders. "I called your house. Claudia said you were taking tomorrow off, gonna make a long weekend out of it, and you were gonna stay late and finish up some stuff. So here you are."

"And there you are. You wanna tell me why you're here at this time of night, and where you left your shadow?"

"He doesn't know I'm here," Mark replied as he studied the tips of his sneakers.

"Why not? You're not in any trouble, are you, Mark?"

Harper expected a flippant response from the younger man. He didn't expect the stricken look as the obviously troubled young man met his gaze.

"I..I'm not sure, Frank."

Harper considered this a moment, then closed the open file on his desk and leaned back into his chair. "So...let's talk."

"Is this gonna be on...or off the record?" Mark asked quietly.

"I don't know yet," Frank replied, his fingers laced across his chest. "Depends on what you tell me."

Mark blinked once, then took a deep breath. "Okay. I guess that's fair." He squared his shoulders before looking the cop directly in the eye and flooring him with his next statement:

"I guess this all depends on whether there's a statute of limitations on murder in New Jersey."

MMMMMMMMMMMM

Hardcastle wiped sweat from his eyes as he hefted the basketball and lined up another bank shot. _Sheesh, not even eight in the morning and already 85 degrees._ He tucked the ball under one arm, making a show out of catching his breath while surreptiously watching the windows of the gatehouse for signs of life. The thought crossed his mind that a well placed volley toward the upstairs bedroom window would work well as a wake-up call. But before he could carry through with his intentions, the sound of a familiar engine brought the judge to the edge of the drive.

Frank Harper, dressed in a polo shirt and jeans, climbed from his car, wiping perspiration as he leaned against the fender and waited for the judge to join him.

"Milt, you're gonna get heatstroke. It's already too hot out here to do much more than breathe," Frank shook his head at his routine obsessed friend.

Hardcastle slapped the cop on the back as they headed for the main house. "I got some iced tea in the fridge that'll make you forget all about the heat. I'll get it while you tell me why you're going to work dressed like _that."_

Frank glanced down with a grimace. "I'm _supposed _to be off today. That's what Claudia reminded me of, at least three times before I left the house. But I needed to talk to you." He glanced over his shoulder as they reached the back corner of the house. " I thought Mark usually joined you for your daily workouts. Too hot for him, eh?"

"I'm sure he'll show up in time for breakfast; he always does. He was out kinda late last night, riding around I guess." Hardcastle paused, frowning as he gazed into the garage and the empty space where the Coyote usually resided. He stared into the darkened interior for so long that Frank finally cleared his throat to remind the older man of his presence.

"You sure he came home last night?"

"Yeah, he did,"Hardcastle replied, turning to ascend the back steps into the kitchen. "I saw the lights come on in the gatehouse about ten, and go out about midnight. Come to think of it, I didn't hear him park the Coyote in the garage. He must have parked down by the gatehouse when he came in."

Harper smiled to himself as he watched the judge retrieve two glasses from the cabinet and fill them with iced tea. _No way Hardcase saw all that unless he was watching for him. And no way he'll ever admit that, either._ As a cold glass slid across the bar toward him, the reason for his visit caused the smile to drop from his face.

"So where the hell has he gone so early?" Hardcastle grumbled to himself. "Well, I guess he'll tell me when he gets back. So," Hardcastle settled into a kitchen chair and motioned the police lieutenant to do the same. "What brings you here on your day off? And why do I have a feeling this has something to do with Mark?"

Frank studied a single bead of condensation as it escaped the glass and pooled on the counter top. He wiped the moisture away before joining the judge at the table, both men recognizing Frank's poor attempt at procrastination. The cop finally looked up into the frowning visage of one increasingly impatient man.

"Milt, just how much has Mark told you about his uncle? About his time living with him when he was growing up?"

"Very little. And what little he _did_ tell me, I had to pry out of him," the judge huffed. "He went to live with his aunt and her husband; they were the only living family he had left after his mother died. The guy supplemented the family income by running a stolen car ring, used teenagers, including his own nephew to lift the cars. Mark got nabbed, turned state's evidence on his uncle to get a suspended sentence, and left Jersey shortly after, never went back." Hardcastle studied Frank through narrowed eyes. "You already know all this, Frank. So what do you know that I don't?"

"Mark ever mention a kid named Robbie Davis?"

The judge sat back, thought a moment. "Not that I recall. Who is he?"

"It's more like who _was_ he." Frank leaned forward, palms flat on the table. "According to the records I got from Jersey this morning, Davis was another one of Jack Baker's boys. He was also Mark's best friend...and he washed up on the north Jersey shore two days before Mark's joyriding arrest."

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

The street shimmered with mid morning steam as the Coyote pulled into a parking space across the street from the bus stop. Several commuters cast disinterested glances his way before returning to their vain attempts to fan away the persistent heat.

The roar of the approaching bus caught Mark's attention as he adjusted his sunglasses and shielded his eyes from the blinding glare reflecting off the Coyote's polished hood. As he reached for the quickly warming Coke nestled beside him, he spotted a lone figure in faded jeans disembarking from the bus. Sliding up onto the door, he swung his legs out and over, preparing to stop the boy from walking away by any means necessary.

Fortunately, no duress was necessary to catch the young man's attention, as he spotted the Coyote and, with only a moment's hesitation, crossed the street to stand in front of McCormick, hands shoved in pockets and a palpable glare obvious even behind the oversized dark glasses the boy wore as he stared down the older man.

"You don't give up, do ya?" the boy hissed, although his voice carried none of the antagonism of their last conversation.

"Nope. Persistent, that's me,"Mark grinned. "Here." He reached into the car and retrieved a second soft drink. "What's say we take a ride?"

Randy turned to stare toward the auto shop a block away. "Gotta go to work."

"No, you don't, it's Saturday." Mark said, his voice turning to stone as he reached out and removed the boy's sunglasses. "What the hell happened to you?"

The teenager snatched the glasses back and started to put them back on, then after a moment crushed the lenses with an audible crunch and threw them into the gutter. "What do you _think _happened to me?"

Mark stared at the boy's swollen, purpled cheekbone and the cut that neatly lacerated both upper and lower sides of his mouth. "Jack did that?" When the boy continued to stare down the street toward Baker's shop, Mark grabbed his arm and practically threw him into the Coyote. No one paid more than a passing glance at the roar of the powerful engine as it sped away.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

"Tell me what happened." Mark motioned the young man to sit down beside him on the weathered picnic table only a few yards from the rolling surf.

"I pissed him off, I guess." The teenager had slipped back into his sullen demeanor, but Mark detected the anger behind the words.

"You guess? Come on, Randy. What'd he do? Accuse you of stealing from him?"

Randy's mask slipped as he blinked and turned his attention from the crashing waves to stare at the older man. "What makes you think that?"

"He's done it before." Mark sighed. "Listen, the offer still stands. You don't have to be assaulted by a guy just to get a paycheck, especially when he's forcing you to break the law."

The boy sighed, slumping down on the bench with the toes of his sneakers buried in the sand. "I almost called you last night." The words were spoken so softly that Mark wasn't sure he had heard him correctly.

"Why didn't you?"

"'Cause you're family..._his_ family. You don't owe me nothin'. Hell, you don't even know me."

"I know you better than you think," Mark said, sliding over to place an arm around the despondent boy's shoulders. "I've been where you are now with Jack, and believe me, I don't owe him a thing."

Randy lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders, as if a weight had suddenly been lifted from them. "You wanna bust him, don't you?"

"I'm not a cop, Randy," Mark answered carefully.

"But you know cops. You said you work with a judge now, right?" When Mark nodded, he continued. "I can give him to you. He's running drugs outta the shop; you knew that, right?"

McCormick heard the tremor in the boy's voice; he tightened his grip on the slim shoulders to encourage him. "Well, the cops _think_ something's going on there; they just haven't been able to figure out what or how."

"I know how he's doing it." Randy turned to face Mark, his eyes large and dilated with fear. "I didn't know what was going on when I got the job there, Mark. You gotta believe me. I just needed the money to help my mom pay the bills."

"I got friends that can help you with that,"Mark replied. "If you give us enough to put Jack out of business, the court's gotta go a lot easier on you."

"That's not what I'm worried about." Randy jumped to his feet, pacing back and forth in the wet sand. "I know I got some court time coming to me. I can handle that. But when Jack finds out I'm the one that turned him in, he'll kill me. He's a mean son of a bitch; he'll kill me, Mark."

McCormick felt a chill snake down his backbone at the boy's words. The memories of a younger version of himself, turning his uncle in to save himself, brought a rush of deja vu to the scene unfolding in front of him. The feeling blossomed when Randy sat down in the sand at Mark's feet, took a deep breath, and said, "I think he killed Juan. Juan wanted out; he and Jack got into a shouting match, and the next day he was gone."

A face, forgotten for over a decade, floated in the air, superimposing itself over the youthful face crouched in front of him now...the face of a friend, long dead, a buddy who made the deadly error of stealing from a man who could kill with no weapons other than his meaty fists. Mark blinked, and Randy's face appeared in front of him once again...the face of an innocent, eyes aged beyond their years and desperately hoping for a way out. He had swallowed his suspicions once; he was one wrong step away from living on the streets back then and he knew it. He had carried on with his life, stepping to his uncle's tune, even when his best friend's battered body washed up on the beach. He had no choice back then; that was what he told himself every time Robbie crossed his mind over the years. But now...now he had a second chance to make things right, and maybe save a young man not unlike himself twelve years ago from ending up where he had been before a curmudgeon figure of a judge had stepped in and redirected his life.

"I want you to talk to the judge." Mark rose from the bench, lifting the now shaking young man to his feet. "He'll take care of you, I promise."

They walked slowly back to where Mark had parked the Coyote, giving the younger man time to think everything through that he was being offered. Finally, Randy nodded. Mark smiled as they pulled away from the beach and headed back down the highway.

"Juan was your buddy." Mark stated, and when Randy replied with a slight nod of his head, Mark continued.

"I had a buddy like that once. His name was Robbie..."

MMMMMMMMMMM

Mark McCormick squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath as he stopped in the doorway of the den. It was time to come clean with the judge, whether he was ready to talk about it or not. He knew, as sure as the sun rose and set, that Hardcastle had been patient with him far beyond his normal limit.

"You got a minute, Judge?"

Hardcastle looked up from his desk, closing the file he pretended to study as he sat back in his chair. "Sure. Take a load off."

Mark settled in a chair facing the desk, unsure of exactly where to start. The judge took the indecision out of his hands. "How come you never mentioned your friend back in Jersey?"

_Always one step ahead, aren't cha, Hardcase? _"I had a lot of friends back there, Hardcase. Which one would you be referring to?"

"Cut the crap, McCormick." Hardcastle slammed his fist onto the desktop with enough force to vibrate McCormick's teeth. "You know damned well who I'm talking about. Davis..."

"Robbie Davis." Mark finished for him, his voice so soft and resigned that Hardcastle mentally stepped back and gave the younger man breathing room. After a beat, Mark continued. "How'd you find out about him, anyway? I'm sure I never told you about him."

"You told Frank. How come you told him and not me?'

"I had to." Mark sat forward. " The cops were pulling out, letting Jack get away with...with everything. I had to tell Frank something to keep him on the case. Besides...I don't really know what happened."

"Back in Jersey."

"Yeah." Mark rose from his seat and turned to stare out the window. "It was a long time ago. Your memories get all twisted, things look...different... over time. But one thing hasn't changed in my head, Judge." Mark turned and sat down on the windowsill. "I believe Jack killed Robbie."

Hardcastle leaned back, his fingers steepled over his chest. "Why do you think that? The Jersey cops sent the case to the cold case files; the records say the body was in the water too long to determine a cause of death."

Mark winced at the judge's words, and the judge responded with a grimace of his own. "Sorry, Mark. Guess that sounded a bit cold and clinical. But that's where the case is to this day...until you have something to add."

"Nothing that would stand up in court."

"What cereal box did you get _your_ law degree from, eh? Why don't you tell me what you told Frank and let _me _decide."

"If you know what I told Frank, why do you need to hear it again?"

Hardcastle leaned over the desk and pinned Mark to the wall with his glare. "Because I want to hear it from you."

Mark turned from the window and sat down across from the judge. For a long moment, neither man spoke. Finally McCormick blew out a long resigned breath, his eyes focused on a time long past.

"Robbie and I were tight, had been ever since fifth grade, when I came to live with Jack and Janet. He loved cars as much as I did; spent all his allowance on racing magazines...dreamed of building muscle cars one day." He smiled faintly at the memory.

"He was into body building too...when he didn't have his head under the hood of a car at Jack's garage, he was lifting weights or working out on the heavy bag at the boys' club. He had a temper, too. He and Jack got loud sometimes; I think he's the only one of us kids that would actually get in Jack's face, stand him down, you know?" Hardcastle nodded, sitting back in his chair.

"So what happened?"

The wistful expression on Mark's face dropped away. "One night, I was locking up. I heard Jack yelling at somebody, and somebody giving it right back to him. I recognized Robbie's voice, and started toward the office. I really didn't think it would get out of hand; I knew Robbie needed the job and he wouldn't push Jack too far.

"When I got to the back, I saw Robbie take a swing at him. Now you gotta remember, Robbie was a big guy, but Jack used to be a boxer. I've seen him punch a wall and not even flinch. And when he got mad, he went totally out of control. Anyway, Jack hit him...hit him hard, and Robbie went down. Jack picked him up like he was a baby and threw him against the wall." Mark swallowed audibly. "He didn't get back up."

"What did you do then?" Hardcastle asked.

Mark rose from his chair and strode to the window, his back to the judge. A long moment later, hands braced against the window frame and head hanging, he replied:

"I ran. My best friend was getting the crap kicked out of him, right in front of me and what do _I _do? I run out and leave him there."

Hardcastle's chair creaked in the heavy silence of the room as he turned to study the younger man's curved back, the slump of his shoulders. "And just what could you have done, if you had stayed?"

"I could have done _something_," Mark turned and slumped down on the windowsill. " I could have tried to break it up...I ...I don't know..."

"You said your uncle talked with his fists. What would have stopped him from jumping you as well? And you had to live with the guy."

"Don't make excuses for me, judge. I turned tail and ran like a coward. I never told Jack what I saw. And I never saw Robbie alive again."

"That's when he disappeared."

"Yeah. I remember one of the guys asked Jack why Robbie wasn't coming around, and he just said he didn't need him around the shop anymore. The word around the neighborhood was that Robbie had run away from home. His mom didn't believe that, and neither did I. He was tough dude; Jack wouldn't have scared him away." Mark returned to his chair with a sigh. "Two weeks later, he washed up on the north beach. Wasn't much left to identify...I think they used his dental records or something, I don't know."

"So you don't know for a fact that Baker killed him."

Mark glanced up with fire in his eyes. " I didn't stick around for the final act, Judge, but I sure as hell know how the story ended. Jack beat him to death. I know it as sure as I'm sitting here."

Hardcastle nodded, elbows on the desk and fingers steepled. "So the cops checked this out."

"They didn't know."

"_What?_ You told the cops what you saw that night, right?"

Mark wouldn't meet his eyes. "They never asked me, and I never told them. As far as I know, they never made any connection between Jack and Robbie."

"Because you were the only witness, and you kept what you saw to yourself."

Mark jumped to his feet, pacing the room before turning to glare at the older man. "Judge, I was one wrong word from sleeping on the street. Jack watched me real close for a couple of days after the fight. I knew he was trying to figure out if I saw anything that night. I was scared of him, Hardcase. I knew he could turn on me like he did on Robbie. I'm not proud of what I did...of what I _didn't_ do back then, but I was sixteen years old. I needed a roof over my head and I didn't have a whole lot of options."

Hardcastle nodded. " But you ended up turning him in to the cops anyway."

"Not for what he did to Robbie. When I got caught in that hot-wired car, I knew I had hit rock bottom. I was looking at jail time; my life was pretty much over at that point. The cops gave me the option to lighten my load if I gave them Jack for the drugs and the hot cars, and I did it. It wasn't nearly enough to make up for what happened to my friend, but it was the best I could do at the time."

"And now, years later, your uncle shows up again, running the same kind of scam," the judge mused. " Using kids to do his dirty work...throwing it in your face that he's back in business again and you can't do a damned thing about it. Another kid under his thumb dies mysteriously and you see history repeating itself...how close am I?"

"Pretty good, judge," Mark offered a hint of a smile. "You should think of a career in law enforcement."

"Nah," Hardcastle rose from his chair. "The hours are long and the pay is sad. But there are perks."

"Oh really?" Mark stood, locking eyes with his friend as he rounded the desk.

"Yeah. Once in a while you get to see justice done. That makes it all worthwhile."

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Lieutenant Frank Harper knew when to take over an interrogation and when to lay back. As soon as the hastily called meeting in the judge's den began, he recognized his place as observer, and let the older man take the lead.

"So, let me see if I got this straight." Hardcastle leaned forward, elbows planted firmly on his desk. "Car number one comes in with the heroin hidden inside. You boys move the drugs from car number one to car number two, which to all appearances was just another car in the shop for a tune-up." When Randy, obviously intimidated by the presence of not only a cop, but a _judge_, finally nodded, the judge continued. "Then each car is picked up by their owner, and everybody goes on their merry way. No dark alleys, no meets on secluded back streets...all done in broad daylight in between oil changes and tire rotations."

Hardcastle studied the young man seated in front of his desk. It had been interesting, to say the least, to watch his expressions as they ranged from timidity to anger as he had filled the three older men in on his boss's illicit activities. Now that the show was essentially over, Randy had grown increasingly restless, shifting in his seat and glancing nervously about the room.

"Son," Hardcastle leaned forward again. "It's not that I doubt any of what you're telling us. But I gotta ask..." He saw Mark tense up in his peripheral vision, but hurdled along anyway.

"Why are you telling us all this? You seem a bit intimidated by this guy, and from what Mark tells me, you have every reason to be. Is there anything else you'd like to tell us?"

Randy glanced from the judge's stern expression to the encouraging smile on McCormick's face, then nodded slowly. He turned toward Mark, but refused to meet his eyes.

"I didn't exactly tell you the truth."

"About what?" Mark asked softly.

"About how I got this." Randy gestured toward his own battered face.

"You said Jack did it."

"He did...but not for the reason I told ya." Randy slid lower down into his chair, finally looking up to meet McCormick's eyes. "He saw me with you the other day. Guess he saw you let me out at the bus stop. He followed me home, stopped me outside my house."

Randy glanced at McCormick, then looked away. "He was mad, really mad. Wanted to know why I was hanging out with you, what kind of questions you were asking me, stuff like that. He dragged me down the street into an alley, and just started punching on me. I pushed him off, got away from him and ran home. I told my mom I got hit trying to break up a fight at work."

"I'm sorry, Randy." Mark moved from his spot near the window, crouching down in front of the teenager's chair and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "He's never gonna touch you again. I promise you that."

"You gotta stay away from him!" The boy straightened in his chair, eyes wide with fear. "He hates you...said he was gonna get you out of his life once and for all. He told me...he said..." the boy swallowed audibly and Mark tightened his grip on the thin shoulder. "He said he was gonna make sure you stopped interfering in his business, once and for all. Those were his exact words. And if I didn't stay away from you, I'd be next."

"And you were going back to work for him, like nothing happened?" The judge's voice boomed in the suddenly silent room, and even Mark jumped.

"I don't have a choice,"Randy whispered. "I need the job; Mom needs the money. I don't have a choice."

"You do now." Mark stood, turning to face Harper. "You got enough to bring him down now?"

Frank sighed as he and the judge exchanged glances. " Not yet. We have his testimony, sure, but without the drugs...We've gotta catch him with the heroin on his property."

Another glance was exchanged, and suddenly the light bulb switched on for McCormick. "You want him to go back in there? No way, Frank. No way."

"I can do it." Randy's voice trembled as he spoke. "I can let you know when another shipment comes in and you guys can come in and shut him down."

Mark was shaking his head before the words were out of the boy's mouth. "The police can put their surveillance crew back on the shop. There's gotta be some other way."

"We had surveillance there before, Mark," Frank reminded him. "Baker knew we were there, and cleaned up his act. He can wait us out."

Hardcastle nodded. "We knew from the beginning we needed someone on the inside." He studied the young man who now sat rigidly straight in his chair, his expression unreadable.

"I'm not gonna let him do it!"

"It's not your decision, Mark." The judge inclined his head toward the teenager. "It's his."

Mark threw up his hands in frustration and strode to the window. After a moment, Randy rose from his seat and stepped to McCormick's side.

"I wanna do it, Mark. I want to put him where he won't hurt anybody else." He glanced over his shoulder, bolstered by encouraging nods from both older men. "I don't want anything to happen to you. You've been nice to me. I lost my best friend because of him, and so did you. You took a stand against him when you were a kid; you did the right thing. I wanna do the right thing, too."

Mark closed his eyes, trying to block the memory of a young, smiling face, years gone. A friend that should have had a long, happy life, only to cross paths with a viper that used him for his own benefit and destroyed him when he stepped out of line. Glancing over his shoulder, Robbie's crooked grin superimposed itself upon the passionately determined expression of the young man standing before him. Then his vision cleared, and the heartfelt determination he saw in this boy's eyes told him the battle was lost.

"This is wrong." Mark leaned over Hardcastle's desk, glaring at the older man. "You're using him. Jack's not gonna trust him anymore, anyway. He has no idea what he's getting into, and I think it's too dangerous."

"It's not _using,_ as you put it," Frank replied. "He's volunteering."

"The hell he is,"Mark growled, his eyes still fixed unblinkingly on the older man silently staring back. "This is not what I promised Randy when I brought him here. I told him you would _help_ him." McCormick blinked and stepped back. "Looks like I was wrong."

Each man watched silently as Mark snatched his jacket off the chair and walked out of the room. The front door slammed, shaking the pictures on the wall to break the awkward silence.

Hardcastle sat uncharacteristically silent behind his desk, before finally rising slowly and circling the desk to look down at Randy.

"What it all comes down to is this, son. You can help us as much or as little as you feel comfortable doing. We aren't gonna force you to do anything. But remember this..." Hardcastle perched on the corner of the desk before continuing.

"Baker is going down, one way or the other. Might not be today, might not be tomorrow. But when it happens, if you're there, you're gonna get hit with some of the fallout. It would be in your best interest to make your best deal now while you can."

Frank crossed the room to stand next to the judge. "It's your decision about going back in, Randy. If you can help us, we can help you. But if you decide not to, we'll still help you anyway we can."

The young man blew out a deep breath, then rose from his chair. "Lemme go talk to Mark and then I'll let you know, ok?"

"Fair enough." Hardcastle patted him on the shoulder, watching with a frown as Randy slowly turned and left the room.

MMMMMMMMMMMMM

Mark heard the crunch of sun scorched grass behind him as he stood on the edge of the lawn, watching the crash of the waves below. He turned and smiled at the young man standing timidly behind him. "Wanna take a walk?"

They descended silently down to the beach, each one lost in their thoughts. Finally Mark stopped and glanced up toward the house. "They talk you into it?"

"Not yet." Randy dug his sneaker toe into the sand, jamming his hands into his jeans pockets. "I wanted to talk to you first."

"This is not what I planned when I brought you here, I swear." Mark kicked at a shell half buried in the soft sand. "I thought you could tell them about Jack's operation, and they would take it from there. I never meant for you to go back in there yourself. It's a bad idea, and I'm sorry I got you into this in the first place."

"I ain't scared."

"You better be." Mark whirled on the kid, fists clenched and eyes blazing. "If you've got any sense, you'll never set foot back in that shop again. Just what do you think would have happened if you hadn't been able to get away from him in that alley last night? He's dangerous, and now he knows he can't trust you."

"Mark, listen..."

"No, _you _listen." Mark moved to within inches of the boy's face. " He's _killed_ people for doing less than what you've done. You've talked to the police about him, and he knows it. You can't handle yourself against him."

"I did alright last night."

"You got lucky. Next time..."

"Okay, _okay, _I got it." Randy moved away from McCormick, turning to stare out toward the crashing surf.

"All I'm asking is for you to wait, let me and the judge and Frank put our heads together. I'm sure we can come up with something." Mark gripped one thin shoulder and turned the boy to face him. "I was thinking, maybe I could turn up the heat on Jack myself. If I get him rattled enough..."

"No!" Randy stepped back, horrified. "No, man, you gotta stay away from him, too."

"I will if you will," Mark said with a smile, leaning over to ruffle the boy's hair.

"I can do it."

"I know you can." Mark sighed. "Just remember you have us for backup. You go to work as usual, stay out of Jack's way as much as possible, and keep your ears open. That's it and that's all...you understand?"

"I got it. Don't worry about me."

_Easier said than done, kid._ "Well, let's go iron out the fine details, then." Mark draped an arm across the teenager's shoulders and led him back across the lawn to the house.

MMMMMMMMMMM

Brilliant sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the two men standing on the walk, watching Milton Hardcastle's pickup disappear down the drive. Neither of the young men seemed willing to relay what they had discussed when they returned from their walk down the beach earlier, a fact that irritated Hardcastle to no end.

"Good idea there, Frank, having McCormick use my truck to take the boy home."Hardcastle said as he turned toward Frank's sedan. "If Baker _is_ watching the two of them, that souped up tomato of his stands out like a sore thumb."

"Which brings me to something that's been bothering me ever since this whole thing started," Frank said. "We got it on good authority from this kid that Baker's out to settle a score with Mark. He's a drug dealer, not a little grass or some pills, but heroin...high end stuff with big paychecks attached. He's suspected of one, maybe two murders, if we can connect him to the kid back in Jersey. And Mark's already sent him to prison once." Harper rested one hand on the car roof, leaning toward the judge. "This guy ain't gonna go down easy, Milt. This little dance Mark is planning...it's dangerous, and, well, I just don't wanna see this slime ball take anybody else down with him when he goes."

"Neither do I." Hardcastle admitted. "You just take care of Randy, and I'll keep Mark close to me."

"Good luck with that," Frank smiled.

As he pulled the car door open and climbed inside, Harper looked back up at the older man. "You know, watching those two today...I think we got a serious case of hero worship going on."

"McCormick?" The judge practically snorted his disbelief. "You gotta be kidding."

"No, really,"Frank continued. "Look at Randy. You got this young kid, no father figure in sight, taking care of himself on the streets. Along comes an older guy, offering him a way out of a sticky situation, probably the only male figure to give a damn about him in a long time. I saw the way Randy looks at Mark, like he's the second chance he never thought he'd ever get." Frank started the car and winked at the judge as he slammed the door.

"It's happened before, you know." Harper suppressed a grin at the bamboozled look Hardcastle threw him before he eased the sedan into drive and headed toward the highway and home.

MMMMMMMMMMMMM

Milton Hardcastle stood at his front door, frowning as he watched McCormick tackle mowing the front lawn with a vengeance. Despite the sweltering heat, his young sidekick had been at it most of the afternoon. Any other time, the judge would have been impressed with his diligence. Today, however, he was just plain worried.

Mark had been wound tighter than a two dollar watch for the last several days, alternating between periods of distraction and hyperactivity. The grounds looked pristine, but Hardcastle had finally decided enough was enough. The young man's anxiety over the troubled teen he had taken under his wing was wearing him down, and instead of brooding over it, as the judge had expected, Mark was channeling his apprehension into yard maintenance.

But enough _was _enough, Hardcastle thought as he crossed the drive and stepped into the path of McCormick's mower. The wheels stopped scant inches from Hardcastle's sneakers as McCormick, face streaked with sweat and dirt, reached down and switched off the engine.

"What?"

"That's enough for today."

"But I'm not done yet."

"Yes, you are," Hardcastle replied. "In fact, you're _well_ done. That's a nice sunburn you're working on there."

"Nah, it'll be a nice tan in a day or so."

Hardcastle turned back toward the house. "Put the mower away and go get a shower. We got work to do."

"Like this isn't work?"

The judge turned back with his patented 'let me explain this to you in simple terms' expression that McCormick knew all too well. "Something a lot more important. Randy just called. Baker got a shipment in today, a big one, sounds like. Randy also says he heard Baker talking on the phone about leaving town."

"So, one more big score for the road, eh?"

"Sounds like it."

"Judge."

Hardcastle stopped, turning toward the pensive young man standing behind him.

"Can we get Randy out now? He's done what we asked him to do."

Hardcastle nodded. "I don't see why not. He'll need a good excuse for not being at work when the narcotic boys come in, something that won't tip Baker off."

Mark made no effort to hide the relief in his expression. "Good."

"Good?" Hardcastle turned, hands on hips. "This isn't our normal gutter dweller, you know. He's still your uncle. Any second thoughts, I need to hear 'em now."

"No second thoughts, judge," Mark said as he rolled the mower toward the garage. "I want him to go down and I want to be there to see it when it happens. I just want Randy out of the way when we do it."

They walked along in silence for a moment, then Mark spoke. "I want him for more than just the drugs, judge."

"I know that, kid. But we may have to settle for what we can get."

"Not necessarily."

Hardcastle fell in step with the younger man. "Now wait a minute. I can hear the wheels turning in that empty head of yours from here. Whatever you're planning, I don't want to hear it. Let Frank and the narcotics force do their jobs. Just remember we means _we._ It does _not_ mean going solo. You got that?"

"Oh sure," Mark grinned as he put the mower away. "When have I ever gone off on my own?"

"I lost count a long time ago," Hardcastle grumbled as he headed into the house.

"Now you're cookin'" came the muffled reply from the garage.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Shafts of late afternoon sunlight streaked the pavement as Mark pulled the Coyote into an empty repair bay. The sound of the powerful engine echoed through the shop as he killed the engine and sat back, looking around. The garage was practically deserted; one grimy teenager lost in catatonic boredom barely glanced up as he hosed down an empty bay in the back. As the kid turned into the light, Mark recognized Randy, and the hair stood up on the back of his neck

_Damn, I thought Hardcase told him to take off_. McCormick reached for the door handle, frantically trying to come up with a plausible reason to speak with the kid before Baker picked up on his presence. Their eyes met as Mark opened the door. Randy inclined his head toward an older model Lincoln parked in the last stall. His expression made it clear that the bounty the cops had been waiting for was stowed away somewhere in its interior.

Mark glanced around the deserted garage, then glared at the young man."Get _out,_" he hissed.

Randy took a step toward him. "_No._ I'm not leaving you alone here with him."

Mark smiled in spite of himself. _Spunky kid; not very smart, but spunky._

"Everything's under control," he whispered. "You remember the deal? You've done your part, now get out of here and let us handle it."

Mark climbed slowly from the car, an eerie sense of being watched sending a shiver down his spine. His suspicions were confirmed when Jack Baker stepped from his office doorway and pinned Mark with a narrow eyed glare.

"Take off, Randy," Jack growled, his gaze never leaving McCormick's face. "Go get a burger or something." When the kid hesitated, Baker glanced over at him. "_Now,_ Randy."

With a nervous nod, the teenager wiped his palms down his grimy jeans and strode quickly away. The echo of the slamming front door followed a few seconds later.

"What the hell you want?" Baker's growl carried clearly across the open bays.

"We need to talk."

"Got nothing to say to you." Baker turned to re-enter his office, glancing back with a frown as Mark's footsteps echoed behind him.

"Well, I got plenty to say to you," Mark said as he approached.

Baker continued into his office, with McCormick following close behind. As he stepped behind the desk, he reached into an open desk drawer, and Mark froze. He relaxed as the older man pulled out a set of keys, but not before the momentary look of panic registered with his uncle.

"You look a little jumpy, Mark," Baker smiled as he palmed the keys. " Don't suppose that tight-assed judge finally saw you for what you really are and tossed you out on your ass. Now that would be justice, wouldn't it?"

"What would you know about justice?" Mark said as he warily watched the older man cross over to a filing cabinet, locking the drawers before turning again to face him.

" I know that some people don't get what they deserve."

"Oh, I don't know," Mark said as he leaned casually against the door frame. The veiled threat in Baker's response was not lost on him, but he refused to let his unease show. " I believe everyone gets what they deserve, sooner or later. Sometimes you just gotta be patient."

"Well, I've just about lost my patience with you." Baker took a step toward Mark, his eyes narrowed and cold. "Was there a reason for this visit, or did you just want to relive the good old days?"

"Oh yes, the good old days. They weren't really that good, now were they?" Mark stood his ground as Baker took another step forward.

"The time I spent upstate, thanks to you, wasn't so good, if that's what you're referring to."

"Ah, now we're back to the justice thing," Mark said. "You see, if there really was any justice in this world, you'd still be there, peeling potatoes and showering with your back up against the wall."

"I did my time," Baker growled.

"Not for what you _should_ have been sent up for. You and I both know you got off easy."

"I don't call seven years easy."

"Murder one gets you life without parole."

Baker snorted a short laugh, then turned back to his desk and dropped the keys back into the open desk drawer. "You've been out in the heat too long, McCormick."

"Do you even remember his name?" Mark pressed as he stepped closer to the desk. "Let me refresh your memory. His name was Robbie. Robbie Davis. He was just a kid, barely sixteen years old. Ring any bells?

Baker studied Mark with hooded eyes, his expression blank and cold. "The kid that ran away from home."

"The kid you beat to death with your bare hands and dumped his body in the river."

Mark waited for the denial that never came. The two men stood, unblinking as they stared at each other. McCormick stepped closer until he stood within inches of his adversary. "And then there's Juan. He turned up in an alleyway here a couple of months ago, beaten to death. And he worked for you, too. Coincidence? Or maybe you just get off on beating up young kids?"

Baker started to turn away and Mark grabbed his shoulder and whirled him around. "How the hell do you sleep at night?"

Without warning, Baker locked a death grip around Mark's throat and pinned him against the office wall. It was obvious to the struggling younger man that he had forgotten just how quick and strong the former boxer was.

Baker leaned in close, his spittle dotting Mark's face. "I sleep like a goddamned baby."

Baker released his grip, shoving Mark against the wall as he did so. Mark winced as his head struck the paneling behind him. He tried and failed to suppress a cough as he braced himself against the wall.

"I was there that night, you know," Mark said in a strangled voice. "I saw what happened between you and Robbie."

"And just what do you think you saw?" Baker asked in a low voice as he straightened his jacket and stepped back behind his desk.

"You know what I saw. I saw enough to send you away for the rest of your life."

Jack Baker leaned forward over the desk, his eyes hooded and cold. "I don't think you saw anything, otherwise you would have turned me in years ago."

"I was just a kid back then," Mark said. "Nobody would have taken my word for anything. I was afraid of you back then; I knew what could happen to me if I turned you in and you got off."

A cold, humorless smile crossed the older man's face. "You were afraid of me then, and you're afraid of me now." When Mark shook his head, Baker continued. "In fact, I could stand here right now and tell you everything you've said is true, and there's not a god dammed thing you can do about it."

"So you admit it...you _did_ kill Robbie back in Jersey...and the kid here, too."

"When I have a..._problem_...I take care of it. In fact, if you hadn't made that deal to get your sorry ass off the hook back then, I would have taken care of you, too. Lucky for you, you took off before you wound up in the river like your buddy."

"They were kids, Jack. How could you kill two kids?"

Baker stood unmoving except for the clenching of his meaty fists. "Your buddy was almost as strong as me. Got in a few good punches before I smashed his skull with a tire iron. And Juan? That punk was trying to blackmail me. Thought he could get me to pay him off so he'd keep quiet about some of my...activities." Baker grinned like a viper. "Guess he was wrong."

McCormick stood in the doorway, stunned and sickened by what he had heard. His bluff had worked; he had convinced his uncle that he had witnessed Robbie's murder, when in fact he had fled long before the fight concluded. He had his confessions, but hearing the words slide out of the devil's mouth so easily chilled his blood. He wanted nothing more than to turn and leave the presence of the monster who thought beating helpless young people to death was just good business practice.

"There's something_ you're_ wrong about," Mark said, taking a step toward the desk.

"Oh, yeah?"

"I'm not afraid of you. Not any more."

"Maybe you should be." Baker reached into the open desk drawer and a sleek .38 appeared in his hand.

Mark stopped, his eyes drawn to the silver barrel pointed at his chest. "I guess I was wrong, too. You see, I told Hardcastle that you didn't need a gun to control these kids...that you did your talking with your fists."

"Believe me, I would like nothing better than to beat the crap out of you, but frankly, I just don't have the time for you right now." He reached over, swept files and ledgers off his desk, then kicked the desk askew with one foot. "You see, when you came in here to rob me, and I surprised you, well, nephew or not, you attacked me and I had to defend myself."

Mark took a backward step toward the door, dropping flat on his face as a shot rang out, shattering the office window over his head. He got one knee up, his palms flat out on the floor, when another shot rang out. He felt a shaft of fire pierce his shoulder as he staggered through the doorway, wincing at the daylight from the open bay doors that seemed a thousand miles away.

MMMMMMMMMMMMM

Hardcastle cruised slowly down the trash strewn back street, squinting in the late afternoon sun. He spotted a telephone repair truck parked near the corner, orange caution cones encircling it but no repairmen in sight. He pulled the pickup into a nearby parking lot and, after carefully surveying the street, casually climbed out and crossed over to the van.

A rap on the back window brought a familiar face into view. The back door swung open and Frank Harper gestured him inside.

"You made good time," Frank said as he moved back into his seat in front of an electronic console and replaced a set of headphones on his ears.

"Well, you said get down here, so I got down here." Hardcastle peered around at the elaborate setup inside the surveillance van. " So, it's going down?"

"Soon." Frank frowned, then adjusted a knob on the recording equipment. Hardcastle acknowledged with a nod the other occupant of the truck, a young man wearing matching headphones and fiddling with a smoothly humming recording machine. "The narco squad is just around the corner, waiting for the word."

"So, what are ya waiting for?" Hardcastle squirmed in his seat. "Randy said the junk is in there, in a old Lincoln with a busted headlight. And why are ya sitting here, almost a block away? You can't see anything but the back door from here."

"Don't need to see." Frank tapped the headphone he was wearing. With a sigh, the lieutenant removed the headset and turned to the judge.

"I had a feeling I was gonna have to be the one to tell you this. I shoulda known he wouldn't do it."

"Tell me what?" Hardcastle asked.

"Milt, Mark is in there." Frank inclined his head toward the auto shop down the street.

"_What?_ What the hell is he...you mean you're holding off on the bust because Mark is in that garage?"

"Not exactly." Frank turned in his seat to face the irate older man. " He asked me for fifteen minutes, and I gave it to him."

"Fifteen minutes to do what?" The judge's voice dropped an octave to a low growl.

"To get a confession out of his uncle. Look, Milt, he had a good point. Once Baker is busted for the drugs, he's gonna clam up and both those young kids are gonna end up in the cold case file. He's a third time loser; this bust is gonna put him away for a long time. And without Mark's help in getting Randy to turn on Baker, we might never have caught him. Now we got him, and with a little luck, we'll be able to add a couple of murder one charges to his sheet."

Hardcastle grimaced and shook his head. "Damn fool kid. I told him no solo flights." He peered out the grimy van window and then turned his gaze back to the monitoring rig. "So, you got the garage wired."

"Ah, no," Frank said. "We got _Mark _wired." He turned to the technician behind and gestured toward his headset. The young man passed it to Frank, who in turn handed it over to Hardcastle. Both men slipped their headphones on and listened to the heated discussion taking place a block away.

_..."And then there's Juan. He turned up in an alleyway here a couple of months ago, beaten to death. And he worked for you, too. Coincidence? Or maybe you just get off on beating up young kids?"_

"Easy, Mark, take it easy," Frank mumbled as he saw the judge lean forward, listening intently. The heated exchange between uncle and nephew continued.

"_In fact, I could stand here right now and tell you everything you've said is true, and there's not a god dammed thing you can do about it."_

"_Your buddy was almost as strong as me. Got in a few good punches before I smashed his skull with a tire iron. And Juan? That punk was trying to blackmail me. Thought he could get me to pay him off so he'd keep quiet about some of my...activities. Guess he was wrong."_

Hardcastle practically leapt from his cramped seat, one fist clenched in victory as he snatched the headset from his ears. "That's it, Frank, we got him. Now let's get the kid out of there and take out the garbage."

Harper held up one hand in caution, gesturing frantically at the discarded headset. As the judge fumbled to replace the device, Frank snatched his off and grabbed a hand held radio.

"Go, go, _go,"_ Frank yelled into the mike. He turned to face Hardcastle, a stricken look on his face. "It's gone bad, Milt," he said as he pounded on the front seat where the young technician now sat, firing up the motor and screeching away from the curb.

Harper realized his explanation was unnecessary as he watched the color drain from his friend's face. It was obvious that both men had heard the unmistakable sound of gunshots echoing through the wire. It was also painfully obvious to both men that the recording equipment had suddenly and ominously gone dead silent.

MMMMMMMMMMM

For a moment, he thought he just might make it. He could see the Coyote, parked just inside the bay doors. If he could just get there, he might have a chance.

_Where's my backup? Where the hell is Frank?_ A wave of dizziness took him to his knees. _I used the code word, Frank...didn't ya hear me? You said use Hardcastle's name if things went sour, and I did. _A shove from behind sent him hurling face first to the oil spattered concrete floor. His left arm was useless now, curled underneath him as fire spread from his shoulder to his chest and down his back. _I need some help here, guys._

Rough hands rolled him over. Daylight streaming in from the open garage door taunted him with its cruel reminder of how near freedom was and how he would get no closer. The shock of being hauled up by the front of his bloody shirt opened his eyes, to see the leering satisfaction in the face only inches from his own.

"You always thought you were something special, didn't ya, McCormick? Well, you're _nothing, _you're _less_ than nothing to me. Living in that fancy house, kissing up to that judge, now suddenly you're a _changed _man_. Well, _that don't change _nothing. _You're the same worthless piece of garbage I picked up off the street years ago." He dropped Mark back to the pavement and raised the gun. " I've waited a long time for this."

Mark flinched and closed his eyes. A faint sound of glass crunching brought his eyes back open as a shadow moved behind his attacker. A sound like a dull thump followed, and Baker screamed, the gun dropping from his hand to fall inches from Mark's side. He tried to roll over, grab the weapon, but his body refused to obey. He blinked sweat from his eyes as he saw a shaking hand reach down and lift the gun.

Blinking rapidly, Mark finally focused his vision on the young man standing over him, crowbar in one hand and a violently shaking gun in the other. His breath caught as he watched Randy drop the metal bar to grasp the gun in both hands, steadying his aim at the man cradling an obviously broken arm at his feet.

"Randy...don't," Mark whispered. "It's all over now...don't do it."

The boy trembled, tears streaking his face. " He was gonna k-k-kill you. I c-c-couldn't let him d-do it again."

"I'm okay, Randy. We got him now." Mark sagged back against the pavement, gasping as another shaft of fire shot through his shoulder.

"You got _nothing." _Baker snarled as he attempted to stagger to his feet.

The sounds of tires screeching to a halt, doors slamming, weapons being cocked, filtered through the air. McCormick lifted a shaking hand to his chest, pulling buttons aside to display wires and a bloody microphone taped to his chest.

"I got everything," he said as a familiar figure knelt by his side. "You're the one that's got nothing now." He wanted to say more, wanted to enjoy the satisfaction of the moment he had waited for for so long, but even the gruff voice pleading with him to hang on wasn't enough to hold back the pain and the darkness that traveled as its companion.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

It was another awe inspiring sunset, the kind tourists traveled from the world over to see. Brilliant streaks of gold and copper painted the horizon, reflecting a kaleidoscope of color across the diamond flecked waves as they crashed against the shore. Against the dazzling backdrop, a lone figure trudged slowly down the beach. He stopped near an outcropping of rocks, gazing up as if to gauge whether the climb was worth the effort. Decision made, he turned back toward the surf and dropped clumsily down into the sand.

The belated thought crossed his mind that getting up was going to be a lot harder than his descent. But he would deal with that when the time came.

Moments later, he turned his head and acknowledged the presence behind him, then turned back to study the surf again. He heard a long suffering sigh, then a whoosh of expelled breath as the older man plopped down on the wet sand next to him.

"What're you doing way down here, McCormick? You're supposed to be resting, taking a nap."

"I slept enough in the hospital, judge. I needed to get out, get some fresh air."

"Fresh air you can get sitting by the pool." When he got no response, the judge shifted in the wet sand. "Frank just called. The arraignment went like clockwork: murder one, attempted murder, possession of narcotics with intent to distribute, and so on and so forth. And a DA back in Jersey is working on extradition papers to get him back there to face murder charges there, too."

Mark nodded but didn't speak.

"And Randy's case looks pretty good, too," the judge continued. "Helping shut down a big drug operation and clearing two murder cases off the books...You both did good, Mark."

A slight smile crossed McCormick's face. "Bet that was hard to say, Hardcase."

"You'll never know the half of it." Hardcastle paused as he studied the exhausted features of the younger man. "You ready to get back to the house now, maybe grill some steaks or something?"

"Yeah, sure." Mark shifted his weight, wondering if the sling encasing his left arm was going to force him to crawl back up the beach.

"Take it easy, let me help you." The judge jumped to his feet with an agility that made Mark suddenly feel much older than his years.

Hardcastle wrapped one arm around Mark's waist, steadying the younger man as he wobbled to his feet. "Those things Baker said, back at the garage," Hardcastle blurted out. "They're not true, you know."

Mark blinked at the sudden change in the conversation. Before he could reply, Hardcastle went on.

"He said some pretty nasty things, about your character, about the kind of person you are."

Mark stopped and stared at the judge, wondering where this sudden effusiveness had come from. "He hated me, judge. Family or not, he held a grudge for a lot of years. The only thing he thought he owed me was a shot in the head."

Hardcastle grimaced, recalling how close that image had come to being realized. The image of Mark, down and bleeding on that grimy concrete garage floor, with his injured uncle still trying to attack him while facing a loaded gun and hordes of invading cops, still haunted him.

Hardcastle kept one arm wrapped around Mark's waist as they slowly trudged up the incline, sand gripping their shoes and making the trek impossibly slow and arduous. "Well, even though you did get in a little over your head this time..."

"You think?"Mark grinned, his smile slipping away as the climb sapped his strength.

"Let me finish," the judge growled. "You proved him wrong. You're not the same kid he knew back in Jersey. You've proved yourself to a lot of people...including me."

They reached the top of the incline, pausing as they stepped from clinging sand to lush grass. Hardcastle stopped to let Mark catch his breath.

"Jack said I hadn't changed." Mark looked back toward the setting sun, his eyes sad and distant. "There was a time, not so long ago, I would have agreed with him." He glanced over at Hardcastle. "But not any more. And I have you to thank for that."

Hardcastle cleared his throat and looked away. "Well, you're still a work in progress. But you're doing all right."

As they started across the lawn again, Hardcastle leaned forward to catch Mark's eye. "I wanna know one thing. How the hell were you gonna get back up here from that beach, anyway?"

What if I hadn't gone looking for you? Answer me that."

"Judge, if there's one thing I know for certain, it's that you'll always know where I am and what I'm doing," Mark said as he reached the patio and gratefully sank down into the nearest chair. Hardcastle grumbled something under his breath as he lumbered into the house in search of a couple of steaks in need of grilling.

"That's what family is all about," Mark said to himself, settling back to watch the sunset.

"Now you're cookin'" the judge said as he softly closed the door.

the end


End file.
